A Kind Word

Warnings: Belief of manipulation, cognitive distortion, angst w/out a happy ending

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

He shouldn't be here.

Roman sucked in a deep breath and raised a hand, preparing himself to knock on the door in front of him.

He shouldn't be doing this.

His hand curled into a trembling fist, only an inch away from the white wood. A jumbled line of glittering foam letters spelled out a name just above where he was aiming for.

Stop.

Roman dropped the hand, obeying the licks of shame eating at his insides. How could he do this? Just because he wasn't feeling great didn't mean he had to take that out on someone else. Especially not someone he cared for.

Making his decision, the creative trait nodded solemnly to himself before turning around. He took one step in the direction of his own room when the door beside him opened.

"Oh, Roman? What'cha doing here, kiddo?"

At Patton's cheerful expression, Roman found himself stuck in place. Battling between what he wanted, and what his gut was telling him.

He offered a meek smile in return to the brilliant one, "Nothing important, Pat. I was going to ask you something but decided against it."

"Oh? What were you going to ask me?"

Internally Roman cursed himself. What had he been thinking? That had been the perfect set up for someone as curious as Patton to ask. Trying to save the situation, Roman waved a hand in front of his face, "Patton, it really was nothing. Besides, you clearly are enroute to something else."

"Aww... c'mon, Roman! If 'ya want some help from your dear ol' Dad there's no harm in asking! And I wasn't going anywhere, I was just bored all cooped up in here. Come on in!"

And come in, he did. Roman sucked in a breath as he looked around the room. It looked slightly different from the last time he and the other sides had been there. For one, the golden glow had faded to a less prominent shade, probably because Patton wasn't clinging harshly to any particular memory at the moment. Secondly, a few of the more troublesome memories had been moved. Possibly to a closet or maybe behind some of the newer memories until Thomas and/or Patton felt nostalgic again.

Roman was sorely tempted to go straight to his usual corner of the room. Thomas wasn't in his living room at the moment, so the television wasn't there, but the rest of the theater memories were. It was like they were calling to him. Tempting him to dive into the mountain of good memories and forget his troubles.

Instead, Roman answered Patton's beckoning hands and sat down beside the other at the edge of his bed. The quilt behind him was soft and warm. Roman felt his eyelids growing heavy as the barest memories of warm, sunny mornings in bed tickled his brain. He felt so... exhausted...

"So, what's buggin' ya', Roman?"

All the guilt that had been forgotten in that split second came thundering back to the forefront of Roman's mind, and he began searching for more ways to get out of it, "Ah... no real... troubling reason, Patton. I just wanted to spend a few minutes in your room, is all."

He saw the look on Patton's face and immediately wanted to withdraw the statement. Patton wasn't dumb, he knew that, and they both knew what it meant when someone wanted to be in Patton's room.

The father figure gently reached out and touched Roman's hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap, "Roman? Are you sure nothing is bothering you?"